


The Fairy Godfather

by WarlockInTraining



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Fae & Fairies, Fae Harvey Specter, Gen, Innacurate mythology, Mike Ross is a mess, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Mythology References, References to Drugs, References to Illness, Supernatural Elements, The author doesn't know what they're doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 10:46:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13925532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarlockInTraining/pseuds/WarlockInTraining
Summary: Mike wasn't sure what he should have expected by summoning a fairy, but the man in front of him certainely wasn't it.





	The Fairy Godfather

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, it the first piece I've actually written on my own for a creative assignement, and I completely thrown accuracy out of the window when it came to myths and legends, sorry about that ! (There's also verbs that I had to use for the assignement, and I kinda had to force them into place o/)
> 
> But hey, I hope you enjoy :D
> 
> Big thank you to Loeily, who betaed it and helped me through it all <3

As Mike pushed the library doors open, he heaved a sigh. To be honest, he was sure his search would be a useless endeavor, if not a completely crazy idea. But he was getting desperate, and at this point, any solution was a good solution. As he was debating whether he should continue or not, his grandmother’s face came up to his mind- and that was it. He was doing this for her. Squaring his shoulders, he walked towards the myths and legends section.

This part of the library, in a corner of the building, was badly-lit and with musty smell permeating the air. “Uh. Typical”, Mike thought as he browsed the books. There was a mildly frightening number of books; small novels, old leathery encyclopedias, numerous medium sized books about folklore. Mike was tempted to just sit down and open them all up, loose himself in between the pages for a day —Or five—. It would have to wait for another day, thought. He was here for one reason. He pulled a book out of one of the shelves, sat down, and started reading.

The first book didn’t give any information. The second one wasn’t of any help either. And neither were the ten or so books that followed. As time passed, Mike grew more and more irritated, raking his fingers through his hair nervously. It had gotten long, strands brushing his shoulders where they escaped his bun. He’d thought the prison he had spent the last three years would have had his hair cut at least once more after the compulsory shave he received on his first day. 

Sighing once more, he got up and stretched. Thinking of his prison stay wasn’t doing him any good. He needed a coffee, and a strong one.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to search for long in the streets of Manhattan before running into a coffee cart. There was a waiting line, but Mike didn’t feel like trying to find another one in the busy streets of New York, so he got behind the other customers. It wasn’t like it would take forever.

As he waited, he couldn’t help but observe the people in front of him. They were a dozen, all in suits, and they seemed to know each other well by the way they were all chatting. Anyone would have deemed it odd, but hey, it was New York. Crazier things happened every other day in New York. He kept watching and noticed they all went back to the same building after getting their order. 

So, they were probably from the same company, Mike mused. He looked at the building. Tall, even for Manhattan, and almost entirely made out of glass panels. He took a quick look into the building lobby. Above the reception desk, a huge, fancy sign read “Pearson Specter Litt”.

Oh, so that was one of those damned law firms he had wanted to work for after graduating, Mike realized. 

Throat suddenly tight, he stepped away from the cart and went back to the library. Screw coffee, he just wanted to get away from the building. 

On the trek back to the library, his traitorous thoughts started wandering back to what brought him to where he was today. As a kid, he was brilliant. Well, his brain was: It could not only understand every book put under Mike’s nose, but also remember it, word for word. It also meant he was always bored in class, and his behavior slowly deteriorated because of this. He stopped counting the number of times he was sent to the principal’s office for answering back to teachers after the fourteenth time. It only got worse after his parents died in a car accident, and it wasn’t long before he dropped out of high school.

But his granny, who had been raising him in spite of her old age and illness, didn’t let him spiral down up to the point of no return. She literally grabbed him by the ear, gave him a good talking down to, and sent him back to school with a kick on his ass, where he passed his diploma with flying colors. He even managed to get enrolled in Harvard Law.

He was in his third year, on his way to become a fantastic lawyer, when he got a call from paramedics. His grandmother had an aneurysm and had to be rushed into surgery. They managed to save her, but she got stuck into a coma.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Mike’s Granny had always been the only thing in his life that stopped him from throwing his life away. And with her sick and him needing to find money for her medical care, it wasn’t long before he found himself in shady business, and barely longer before he got arrested and ultimately thrown in jail for drug possession – All dreams of becoming some sort of lawyer tossed out of the window.

And that was it. Three years and five month later, he was on the street of Manhattan, running out of ideas to save his Granny. He just wanted her to wake up, for god’s sake!

The hospital she was in wanted to pull the plug on her. The news dropped two months ago. And now Mike had only one week left to find a solution; he tried everything, short of going back to drug business. He couldn’t bring himself to do that, no matter how hard he tried.

But now he was in a fix. None of the ideas he thought of worked, and that’s when he turned to the supernatural. 

He didn’t really believe in gods and magic, but he never disregarded the fact that there might be more than meet the eye in this reality. And if one of these fairy-tales creatures would help them, well. He wasn’t above trying.

Coming out of his reverie, he found his feet had brought him back to the library. He still hadn’t found anything, but there were still dozens of books to be read, after all.  
His fear of losing his granny started creeping up on him, but he tried to chase these thoughts away. He’d figure a way out to make her better. He had to. 

* * *

Okay, so he had a few leads. There were crossroads demons. The success rate was supposedly of one hundred percent, but his life expectancy would be dramatically reduced. So, he’d try other creatures first. As much of a mess he was, he still wanted to live.

Then, there was Hoodoo, but he almost immediately crossed it off. This practice was born out of black slavery and shouldn’t be practiced so lightly.

Praying wasn’t at the top of his list either. His parents and granny had been pious and look where it got them. Still, roman gods where supposed to be good at pacts, so he kept this idea to be explored later.

Then there were faes. They couldn’t be “summoned” per say, but could be bribed into coming to do their bidding. And apparently, one didn’t see their lifespan shortened when asking them something. 

There were other leads, but most of them weren’t promising and he didn’t need to get carried away and try every single lead he found.

He closed the books and leaned back. Faes it was. If it didn’t work, then… well, there were still other options.

He gathered his belongings and stood up. He had a place to be and supplies to be bought.

* * *

“Holy fucking shit that was a bad idea!” Mike wailed. His whole body was shaking, and he couldn’t stop his teeth from chattering. He was trudging through the forest, in the dead of the night, and was seriously considering making a U turn and head back to his hole-in-the-wall apartment. The crossroads demon deals didn’t have to be made in the middle of a forest, and he could reach a crossroad with a car! And who needed a long lifespan, anyways?

But hey, he was already reaching his destination, so might as well go through with this, right? 

He arrived in the clearing and promptly knelt in the grass. He divested himself of his jacket and hesitated before taking his shirt off. It wasn’t explicitly mentioned that he be bare-chested, but all the illustrations he found pictured the summoners this way, so he figured it wouldn’t hurt. Right?

He placed the five white candles he had brought around him in a circular pattern and lit them, making sure the bigger one was right in front of him. Now all he had to do was to sacrifice a piece of himself. He grabbed his hair, that he had woven into a loose braid, and took out an ornamented knife. He was pretty sure the books actually meant some blood of flesh, but he decided to be literal about this; hair was _technically_ a part of him, and whoever showed up – if anyone did, that is – would have to deal with it. And he could have just brought scissors with him, but he felt like being dramatic when packing his supplies. So, sue him, Mike was both a smartass and a drama queen. Whatever, it’s not like it would change anything.

“Here goes”, Mike muttered. He straightened up, and with a sharp tug of the knife, chopped through his braid. He quickly brought his freshly shorn locks to the big candle in front of him, and called out “I summon thee, Ô spirit, to do my binding!”. Then, he waited.

And waited some more.

Nothing happened for a good minute, and Mike was starting to feel a little ridiculous. The flame was slowing eating up the locks, and soon he had to let go of the strands and let if all into the small flame.

As soon as he did this, a sharp gust of cold tore through the tree and extinguished the candles, making Mike squeak in surprise, looking right and left frantically.  
Not a second later, another, stronger wind picked up and didn’t let up, rooting out blades of grass, forcing Mike to close his eyes, raising his arms to protect his face.  
It took five seconds or so for the wind to die down, and when Mike dared opening his eyes, nothing seemed to have changed.

“Turn around, rookie.”, a voice called out behind him.

Mike let out a very, very high-pitched scream and jumped what was probably a good two feet in the air.

When Mike turned around, he discovered a man sharply dressed in a charcoal suit, standing five feet away from him, gelled hair perfectly in place and a smug grin plastered on his face.

Mike floundered for a good five second, and when he didn’t manage to get a word out, the man sighed.

“Get up, rookie, and stop looking like you’re about to throw up on my shoes. And put your shirt back on, would you?”

“Uuuh…” Mike said eloquently.

“Oh, come on” The man grumbled and in three strides, he was right in front of Mike. He grabbed him roughly by the back of the neck and hauled him upright, shoving Mike’s shirt in his arms a moment later. Mike fumbled to get into his t-shirt, sure he was just hallucinating. But the man was still here when he popped his head through the neck hole of his shirt.

“So, you’re, uh… “Mike started.

“A fae, yes. Or fairy. Or spirit, whatever you want to call me. I’m not picky”

“I wasn’t really… expecting that.”

“What, the suit?” The man gestured at his clothes. They looked very expensive.

“Well, yes.”

The man exhaled through his nose.

“We gotta adapt to the times, rookie. Tattered robes and leather clothes would be hard to miss in 2018.”

Mike gaped a bit.

“Wait… You mean you’re living in the same world as us?”

“Where do you think I’m living?” 

“I don’t know, in some kind of …Magical, parallel universe?”

“Nope” The man - fairy? – deadpanned. “We live in the same old world as you.”

“But- You have a job, and everything?”

“Of course I do. How else could I afford my three-hundred square feet condo?”

Mike stared. This was really not what he expected.

“And I’m a lawyer, if you’re wondering”, the man went on.

“A lawyer ?!” 

Really, REALLY not what he expected.

“Yeah. Ever heard of Pearson-Specter-Litt?”

Mike’s memory pinged, bringing back the image of the coffee cart, the immaculate building, and the hopelessness he had felt gripping his throat.

“Sure I did. Had it on my sight when I was at Harvard.”

“Ooh, a lawyer in the making. Interesting. Well, what brings you here, rookie?”

Crossing his arms in defensiveness, Mike replied.

“I’m not. A Harvard student, I mean. Not anymore. And it’s kinda linked to why I’m here. I’m Mike, by the way, not rookie. And I want you to save my Granny.”

The man peered at him for a few moments, as if he was trying to figure Mike out. It made Mike want to fidget under the intensive stare. After what seemed an eternity to Mike, he seemed to come to a conclusion and took his hands out of his pockets.

“Okay, Mike, I’m Harvey Specter. You’ll have time later to tell me your story, but for now I’m guessing you want to go ahead and get my help?”

As he said this, he extended his hand. But right before Mike could shake it, Harvey stopped him.

“Think well before you take my hand, Mike. It means you’re accepting my deal, and there’s no going back.”

Mike thought for a second.

“You won’t send me to hell in ten years after we make the deal, right?”

“Probably not. But your soul will be mine, technically.”

“Uh”. Mike knew that it was the price to pay, but he had also read that fairies were more benevolent than demons. Most of the time, anyways. And the man seemed honest, if not a smug asshole. And trading his soul for his Grammy? It was nothing.

Mike looked resolutely back at Harvey, a spark in his eyes that made Harvey smirk. That boy was interesting. Mike gripped Harvey’s hand firmly, his voice echoing loud and clear in the forest.

“Alright. It’s a deal.”


End file.
